


Before I sleep

by Judin



Category: Bakuten Shoot Beyblade, Beyblade
Genre: But mostly cuddling in bed, Established Relationship, M/M, Olivier is manipulative, Tiny bit of kink for Ralf and Johnny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29273442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judin/pseuds/Judin
Summary: Olivier knows his friends well, and he wants them to be happy.
Relationships: Olivier Boulanger | Oliver Polanski/Giancarlo Tornatore | Enrique Giancarlo, Ralf Jürgens | Robert Jürgens/Johnny McGregor
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Before I sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Written for BeyArMaMo2018, day 05. Originally posted on Tumblr.

It wasn’t often they shared hotel rooms, but a mistake had been made somewhere and so Olivier, Giancarlo, Ralf and Johnny found themselves in a midnight-dark hotel room with two luckily sizeable queens and neither the energy nor opportunity to do anything about it until morning. Olivier and Johnny grumbled about it all the way to bed, Johnny mostly because _how dare they treat us this way_ and Olivier because he slept lightly and was probably going to wake every time someone turned over.

Ralf took it stoically, and Giancarlo had won against Ivan today and was in indefatigable good spirits.

“It’s like a slumber party!”

“Oh, fuck off.” Johnny had lost against Yuriy, and was handling it about as well as he usually did.

They stood around awkwardly and brushed their teeth in the cramped bathroom, silently judging each other’s pyjamas.

Olivier studied the four boys in the mirror, and pondered. In addition to their own match today, they had watched the Americans battle the Chinese team, and sat next to the BBA for the duration of it. Everyone had been so open and easy with each other, joking around, their feelings on their sleeves, completely unguarded. Well, not Kai, but Kai was more like the Majestics anyway. Down on the floor, the two opposing teams had cheered for each other as much as for their own players. Even the Blitzkrieg Boys were obviously deeply comfortable in each other’s company.

It had made Olivier think of his own team.

He loved his three friends. They were family to him, with all the ups and down that entailed. They were eccentric and high strung and private, but now that they were under each other’s skin they were bound together for life. Olivier knew them well.

He hadn’t really been aware of them until that first European Beyblade championship, when all four of them had burst onto the international scene like debutants at their first ball, but once they had stood on the victors' podium together, he had become insatiably interested in them.

It hadn’t taken him long to make Giancarlo open up to him. After a few months of bumping into each other at parties and Beyblade events, and then a long weekend in Paris, Giancarlo had told Olivier pretty much every secret he owned. He was Olivier’s now, his loyal, contrite pup, so eager to be better. And then sometimes he’d turn around and say something downright insightful and Olivier would be surprised to find himself known in turn. Sometimes he would spend the night in Giancarlo’s arms, and feel comforted and protected in a way he hadn’t known he needed.

In general, Ralf and Olivier were more reserved, Johnny and Giancarlo more emotional. Ralf and Olivier got along well for this reason, but it meant it had taken longer before Ralf had let Olivier get close. Olivier was a patient hunter, though, and after a number of mellow evenings reading in companionable silence, invigorating discussions of art and philosophy, fencing matches and blustery car rides through the French countryside, Ralf had slowly begun to share little bits and pieces of his inner life. His complicated feelings towards his late parents, his early feelings of not being able to connect with other people, and then his confusion at his growing attachment to Johnny. Olivier could still vividly recall one particular late night confession, hidden behind dark curtains and whispered into a deep glass of wine.

_“I want to make him kneel.”_

It had suited Olivier just fine that Ralf wanted to take charge of Johnny. Someone had to.

He had tried, of course, to become Johnny’s confidant too. He had invited the boy to France, and it had been a pleasant enough weekend, at the end of which Johnny had walked into the airport with a knowing, jaunty wave and left Olivier feeling like he’d run into a brick wall. Somehow, the click of the lock opening, the moment of thawing, had just never come. At first, he couldn’t figure out what he was doing wrong. He tried again, and again, coaxing, pulling gently at threads, making himself agreeable and hospitable and friendly. He had even given up some secrets of his own, and been shaken when it yielded nothing in return. Johnny remained an unassailable fortress, deflecting most of Olivier’s attempts with glee, but growing moody and snappish if pushed too far. He could happily talk Beyblading or sports or music for hours, but it never got personal.

Giancarlo didn’t understand Olivier’s frustrations. _“He talks to me about all kinds of things. I don’t know what you’re so upset about, cara. Just give him time.”_ Olivier had grilled Giancarlo vigorously to discover if Johnny had simply chosen someone else to unburden himself to, but no, they were just a little friendlier with each other than Johnny was with Olivier.

Give him time? No, Johnny was doing it on purpose. It could not stand!

The click, when it came, was not of a lock opening, but of the puzzle pieces falling into place. They had all been gathering at Ralf’s for the weekend, an unusual thing at the time, and since Giancarlo had yet to arrive and Ralf didn’t give rematches, a bored Olivier had suggested to Johnny that they blade.

Johnny had gone pale, then red, said something incoherent about how Olivier wasn’t good enough and anyway Johnny didn’t have his blade with him, neither of which was true. Olivier had shared a look with Ralf, and pretended to let it go.

The next time he was asked to attend a local Beyblade event, he had called Johnny and asked if he wanted to join in.

_“It’s a bit of publicity mostly, but it might be fun, and if we end with a match between you and me, we could really inspire the next generation … or, you know, crush their ridiculous little dreams.”_

He had expected the refusal before it came.

_“I’ve … got a thing that day. Can’t make it.”_

So there it had been again, but it takes three to make a pattern, so Olivier had tried one more time, when they were all gathered again.

_“Hey, Johnny, I keep thinking about how we’ve never bladed.”_

Johnny’s back had stiffened. “ _Hmm? So?_ ”

_“So, I want a challenge. Come blade with me. Let’s see who is better. Who knows, maybe I should have been in the finals._ ”

_“In your dreams.”_

There was the pattern.

_“Do you have a stomach ache or something?”_ Giancarlo had wondered. _“You always want to blade with me.”_

Johnny had gone red again. _“Fine! I’ll show him his place since he’s so eager.”_

Ralf had said nothing, but he had watched every shift in Johnny’s expression.

Olivier would of course have liked to say that he won their match. He didn’t, though he gave Johnny plenty of trouble. Johnny came at him with everything he had from the very beginning and stood his ground even when the entire stadium was shaking under Unicolyon’s hooves. Salamalyon darted in and out between Unicolyon’s legs, clawing at him, spewing fire, and slowly, Olivier felt how he and his sacred beast were being pushed back. In the midst of his frustration, Olivier was been distracted by curiosity. Johnny was doing just fine; he was incredibly powerful, had extraordinary control over blade and beast, and Salamalyon was agile, quick and ferocious. So why had he been reluctant to battle Olivier?

Defeat came with a sudden impact that sent his pink Beyblade spinning out of the dish. Olivier felt disappointed, but he was not left empty-handed; Johnny laughed with delight and relief at his victory, and it told Olivier all he needed to know.

On the side-lines, Giancarlo smiled along and said _“Try not to let it go to your head, eh, Johnny?”_

But Ralf looked like his once-whispered desire was burning in him.

Much had changed after that moment, and some things had not. Johnny was still closed off against Olivier, except now it didn’t matter because Olivier had figured out how to read him; Johnny had taken his loss against Ralf much harder than anyone had known, and he had been frightened of what would happen if he battled Olivier and lost. What if he wasn’t even second, but third best? So he hid his insecurities, refused to battle Olivier, and hovered around Ralf in the hopes that he would change his mind about rematches.

Years later, in their shared hotel room, Olivier mused that he knew all his friends well. He didn’t need more than a glance from Ralf before the lights were turned off to understand his intention. To help out, Olivier grabbed Giancarlo and fell into the nearest bed with him. This effectively left the other bed to Ralf and Johnny.

Johnny came out of the bathroom as the last one, and halted briefly when he realised the situation, but quickly pushed forward, going around to his bed and climbing in next to a seemingly indifferent Ralf.

“You’d better not plan to stay up and read; I want to sleep,” Johnny grumbled as he made himself comfortable, his back to Ralf.

“No, no. No reading,” Ralf promised, turning off the bedside lamp.

Olivier imagined he could hear Johnny’s heart pounding in the half-dark. "Good night," Olivier said, turning off the final bedside lamp and plunging the room into blackness. Only at the edges of the curtains at the window did white city light still peek inside, but it didn't reach the beds.

Beside him, Giancarlo sighed in contentment. Olivier touched his shoulder and urged him to turn around, into Olivier's arms and away from the other two. Giancarlo made a small sound of inquiry, but Olivier put a finger to his lips and shushed him softly, before leaning in and kissing the place his finger had just been. Giancarlo accepted it, adjusting them so they were lying deep in each other's arms and kissing quietly, but he did nuzzle up to Olivier's ear to whisper "What are you up to?" on a breath.

Olivier didn't reply, but let Giancarlo feel his smile in their next kiss. Then they settled down. Olivier closed his eyes and waited.

After a few minutes of silence and breathing, he heard the unmistakable sound of a body being pulled across the sheets, and imagined Ralf gathering Johnny into his arms. He heard Johnny’s whispered protest, muffled suddenly, and then the wet sounds of a deep kiss.

Some shuffling and another protest. “The others-mph.”

More kisses, quick inhales between long silences and small moans.

Giancarlo ducked his head against Olivier's shoulder, embarrassed and a little annoyed maybe.

Then Ralf’s smooth voice, mumbling in the dark, “You did well today.”

A brief struggle. Outrage in Johnny’s whisper. “Don't patronise me-ah!”

Olivier couldn’t help himself; he opened his eyes and looked with adjusted eyes through the dark.

Ralf was leaning over Johnny, arms tight around him, and was kissing his neck, nuzzling his shoulder and ear.

Johnny's breath had gone shallow. "Ralf ..." But Johnny could protest all he liked; he belonged to Ralf and he knew it.

"You did well today," Ralf repeated with emphasis, drawing back far enough to lock their eyes.

After a long moment, Johnny exhaled, body relaxing in acquiescence. “Okay.”

Ralf kissed him gently.

Olivier smiled, satisfied that all was well again, kissed Giancarlo's forehead apologetically and settled in to sleep.


End file.
